


someone to say goodbye to

by Antilin (sketchbooksandspace)



Series: all of our magics [4]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, Supportive Eliza, hamilton needs a therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:36:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchbooksandspace/pseuds/Antilin
Summary: "Attachments are an ancient but common magic. They are common because those involved, usually couples in romantic setting, do not have to cast a spell in order to have an Attachment- apologies, ‘Attachment’ should be translated as ‘Bond’."In which the world is magic, the people are melancholy, and the ghosts have promises to keep.





	someone to say goodbye to

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this odd bit of worldbuilding I'm probably never going to touch again. I have to admit that I didn't have a beta for this, and I edited everything myself. If you see a mistake or if anything is confusing, please let me know. 
> 
> Anyways, warnings for the following content:  
> anxiety attacks  
> discussions of death  
> minor alcohol use

It wasn’t until the light filtered in through the window that Hamilton realized that he’d forgotten to sleep. Multiple promises to himself had been ignored.  _ Just one more paragraph couldn’t hurt _ , he would tell himself, and when he was finished he would rest his hand on his cheek, his quill dripping ink, and then shrug, deciding that  _ just one more paragraph couldn’t hurt. _

The sunlight on his hand offered the slightest warmth, so he put down his quill, made sure that his memo’s ink was dry (he needed to get that to Burr for the Weeks trial as soon as he could. Also, it wasn’t dry.), and stretched his hands in the ray. He put his palm parallel to the wall, rotating it back and forth. And there was a kink in his neck- he rolled it around, a satisfying  _ crack!  _ sounding.

The sounds of the city waking wafted in from the window. Hamilton hadn’t heard the bustling noises while he was so engrossed in writing. It registered as a calming white noise, and the sunray was moving from Hamilton’s desk to the rest of his body. It wasn’t a warm blanket, but he  _ had  _ stayed up all night. Oh god, there was no avoiding falling asleep, now. Eliza was going to be miffed.

Before sleepiness could completely grasp him, he recited a small verse in Latin, a familiar tingle enveloping his entire body. A warm pocket of air conjured around the memo, and the ink spontaneously dried. That air spread throughout the room, providing the last push Hamilton needed to finally fall asleep.

Like always, falling asleep brought Hamilton a sense of pure peace that was unattainable while awake. His dreamscape was of white, larger-than-life cluster flowers. Dreamscapes were always recorded to be calming to the person inhabiting them, but when Hamilton climbed up the stalks of the flowers, looking out at the endless ocean of white petals? Indescribable serenity.

He felt as if he could fall asleep in his dream. He had never tried before, so maybe he could, now…

He woke up with a gasp, clutching his chest and he couldn't breathe but it wasn’t as if something were restricting his breathing something was wrong and it was unimaginably wrong. His heart was racing, and for a moment Hamilton had thought that he had been cursed, before his mind- the part that was not screaming, ‘wrong wrong wrong something is terribly  _ wrong _ ’- before his mind reminded him of the many wards placed not only over himself, but also on his Eliza, Phillip, and their house.

White-hot pain that was not pain still coursed through his entire body as if his blood were suddenly replaced with quicksilver. Without realizing it, he fell out of his chair so that he was on his knees, clutching his chest with both arms.

He choked out a few Latin words, the simplest messaging spell that he knew. “Eliza,” he sputtered, “office,” and capped the spell. The sensation afterwards was practically insignificant to whatever was currently happening to him.

In only a few seconds, Eliza burst through the door and was at Alexander’s side. Recognition dawned on her face, and then a hard-set determination. “I’ll explain this later, but you need to wait through this. Maybe a few hours. I’m sorry,” she added, as if it were her fault.

He didn’t have the will to argue with her false guilt. “How… long?”

She brushed his hair off of his neck. “I can’t be certain, it changes case by case, and-” she cut herself off as Hamilton began letting out a low whine. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re going to be disoriented for a long while afterwards, but I might have the ingredients for a remedy around the house.” Her voice was more of a question than anything else.

Hamilton nodded. “Go.”

As Eliza left the room, Hamilton did his best to stand. He supported himself by leaning on the wall, walking, er, stumbling to the bookshelf. He shouldn’t be standing, he should be fixing whatever was causing this, something was  _ wrong _ -

He dragged his hand over the spine of the oldest book he owned, the gold pattern glistening in those damned sun rays. He pulled the book out as another wave of quicksilver shot through his chest, and crumpled, but at least he had his Tome.

He sat cross-legged on the floor as his chest heaved up and down. He noticed his hands shaking as he turned the pages, thick, yellowed pages. It seemed as if he stared at the pages for hours, trying to make sense of any of the pages. It was in Hebrew, passed down from his mother, and though he could normally read Hebrew, he couldn’t seem to read it now. The letters shifted until they spelled out ‘ _ something is undeniably wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.’ _

His Tome was pulled from his grasp, and Eliza was by his side once more. “Opening a spellbook in your state?” She shook her head. “I always pegged you for eccentric, but not  _ insane _ .” Without his Tome to hold in his lap, he clutched his chest once more.

“ _ Tome,” _ Hamilton said. Not dangerous. “How- how longer?”

“I am going completely off of an intuitive guess, but I believe the Shattering is near completion.”  _ Shattering? _ She just frowned. “I just want to say again, I’m sorry.”

Just as Hamilton was about to mutter, ‘ _ don’t,’  _ to Eliza, an even more indescribable feeling arose. There was an incredible numbness in all of his body. Once more, he crumpled onto his stomach, and something- something  _ left  _ him. It was as if a part of his soul departed, a piece of himself that he didn’t know he needed gone forever.

He shivered.

And then he was fine.

He gasped in relief, and sat up. “It’s done now,” he told Eliza, completely unnecessarily. It was comforting, though. “God, what was that?” Just as Eliza was about to respond, Hamilton heard soft footsteps from the hall, making their way towards the office. “Philip must have gotten out of his crib again,” he reasoned aloud, and then, to Eliza, “I’ll get him.”

He stood up, and Eliza held out a hand as if to stop him, but he’d already reached the door, and swung it open. But Philip wasn’t there.

Frozen mid-step, a look of mild surprise but joy on his face, was his Laurens, still in his uniform. Hamilton let out a breath of air that was more of a laugh. His Laurens repeated the gesture as Hamilton closed the distance between them, both hands pressed to his Laurens’ cheeks. Anything more would have to wait until later. “You’re back from South Carolina! Did you get the letter I sent you then? Or did you finally hunt down that hydra?”

His grin broke. Hamilton knew it was because his Laurens did not enjoy small talk, so he thought nothing of it. “Let’s just say that I got a little tired of fighting hydras.”

“My Laurens? Getting tired of something? Maybe of Tilghman’s puns.” Hamilton dropped his hands and tilted his head a little to the side, taking in the full expanse of his Laurens’ face as he laughed. “I missed you so much,” he whispered.

This time, his Laurens touched Hamilton’s jaw. He only used one hand. “I missed you too. I should have come here sooner, I really should’ve… Please forgive me.”

“You’re here now,” Hamilton reassured. He pulled his Laurens in for a hug, nestling his head into his Laurens’ shoulder. His Laurens let out an ‘oof’- Hamilton smiled a little. His Laurens pretended not to like hugs, though Hamilton knew that he  _ loved  _ them.

Somebody cleared their throat, and Hamilton remembered Eliza standing in the doorway to the office. He pulled out of the hug, though his hand lingered on his Laurens’ arm. “Alexander,” she muttered, and gestured for him to come. There was an expression on her face, and Hamilton couldn’t place it.

He turned back to his Laurens. “My Laurens, maybe you should visit the nursery for a while. The door was open, did you see it? Look over Philip.”

“Yes,” his Laurens answered. He looked down at Hamilton for a few seconds before deciding to kiss him, It was short, but by god was it exhilarating. Maybe it was because Eliza was right there. Maybe it was something else. After breaking away, his Laurens ran his fingers through Hamilton’s hair. “Goodbye, my dear boy.”

He turned around, and gave Hamilton one last look before going around the corner.

“ _ Alexander _ ,” Eliza said again, more urgent this time. Now, Hamilton noticed a potion bottle in her hand. She walked up to Alexander, pressing it into his hands, almost pleadingly, but Hamilton, confused, pushed it back. “Please drink this. It helps with the hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations?”

“They occur after the Shattering.” At Hamilton’s confused expression, she explained, “the Shattering was the panic you felt.”

Hamilton felt his eyebrows furrow. “Was it some sort of curse or invocation?” 

She hitched her breath. “It’s  _ Bond _ magic, Alexander.” Eliza looked about ready to cry.

Oh god, why was that? Eliza was professionally tutored in magic, she was most likely the most knowledgeable woman- no, person, in America. Hamilton’s specialty was the more practical, everyday spells, and what he’d been able to extract from his Tome. Never had he read anything about a Bond or a Shattering. He had not an inkling of what the term meant besides what he had just experienced himself. Not knowing wasn’t a very happy feeling. “That’s not in my Tome,” was all he said.

“I’m sure it is, just under a different name.” She walked herself to the desk, and sat in the chair. “Bonds are only formed through deep emotional connections. Familial ones are rare, and, well…” Hamilton’s family was dead or didn’t matter. She didn’t say that out loud. “Shatterings happen when your Bonded  _ dies, _ Alexander.”

“Would you not be my..?”

“You  _ are,”  _ Eliza said, confused but still upset. “But. There’s another person you would have Bonded to.”

Then, it hit him. “My Laurens,” he said blankly. He made eye contact with Eliza. She knew about how he felt for his Laurens (He didn’t worry about that, she understood). She  _ knew  _ that his Laurens couldn’t just die. She knew that, “he was just in the hall.”

She shook her head. Standing up, she pressed the potion into his hands. Again, he refused it. “He was a hallucination, Alexander.”

His throat was dry.

She pushed the potion into his hands until he accepted it. Undid the lid.

“I can’t,” he croaked, “even if he is a hallucination. I can’t forget his face, his voice-”

She held it to his lips, and he closed his eyes. “You can’t forget anything about the one you love, even if you try. But if you give in to the hallucinations, you could go insane.”

Without opening his eyes, he lifted the potion bottle with trembling hands, letting the sweet liquid pour down his throat. There was a tingle that swept throughout his entire body that was entirely unlike his magic. This was so much more like breathing in freezing air.

Not knowing what else to do, he hurried out of the office. “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder. Hamilton went past a couple of closed doors, and then the first open one. He was vaguely aware of Eliza following him. He looked in, and saw his Laurens standing over Philip’s crib, looking down at the boy. “He’s right here,”’ he told Eliza, watching as she scurried down the hall. “He’s right-”

When he looked back in, he couldn’t see his Laurens.

His shoulders slumped, his face fell. Hamilton stood there for a long while, Eliza’s hands wrapped around him supportively, until she whispered, “come on, let’s go.”

 

* * *

  
  


Later, almost a decade later, Hamilton picked up his Tome. His son, playing ‘Army’ with his sister’s dolls, sat in the corner of the room, moving the dolls in a way eerily similar to a game of chess. But once Hamilton cracked open the book, Philip abandoned the game and came running. “Pa, can I read with you?”

In response, Hamilton chuckled. “Of course, if you can read Hebrew.” When Philip hesitated, Hamilton gestured the boy forwards. “I can translate as I read, go clean up your game and come sit with me.”

“No, I’m not done yet!” Philip jumped up on the couch anyways, squirming underneath Hamilton’s arm. “I heard someone at school talking about a ‘hydras’, is there something about those?”

Wincing, Hamilton shook his head. “The singular is ‘hydra’, no ‘s’. And I have an aversion to hydras, it's a better idea to ask your mother. You can choose any other page, though.”

“I can?” His face lit up. He snatched away the Tome, and opened to the middle, before counting, “four hundred forty-seven, four hundred forty-eight, four hundred forty- _ nine.” _

Raising his eyebrows, Hamilton asked, “you’ve already got a page picked out?”

“Four hundred forty-nine,” Philip piped out, not quite answering the question. He gave the book back to Hamilton, who began translating.

“Attachments are an ancient but common magic. They are common because those involved, usually couples in romantic setting, do not have to cast a spell in order to have an Attachment- apologies, ‘Attachment’ should be translated as ‘Bond’.”

Asking for a hydra, and then turning to this page? Hamilton stopped reading, and looked at his son. His son stared back at him. “Why’d you stop reading, pop?”

Hamilton put his hand on Philip's forehead, and said a Hebrew spell meant for detecting curses. There was the normal tingle that came with casting a spell, and nothing else.  _ Not _ cursed. Just a coincidence.

“Bonds are typically difficult to detect without casting a spell, so most Bonds go unnoticed for most of the Bonded’s life. Because of the nature of Bonds, they are unbreakable until death. Those Bonded that do fight will always make up one way or the other. It is unknown whether this is correlation or causation.”

He paused, thinking that the last sentence wasn’t quite translated correctly. In this time, Philip decided to ask another difficult question. “Pa, are you Bonded?”

“Twice,” Hamilton says quietly, pondering the possibility that Jefferson somehow was behind this. “To your mother, and, well, the other- he isn’t here now.”

“What happened to-?”

“Back to reading. The only way a Bond can be broken is, as stated beforehand, death. The surviving Bonded will go through a panic or sensation that something is unfatho- unfathomably wrong. This is called a Shattering. Afterwards, many legends claim that hallucinations of the deceased may occur. This is-” Hamilton’s heart skipped a beat, “this is not true. The ‘hallucinations’ are- are ghosts of the deceased, visible only to the bonded. The myth of an anti-hallucinogenic potion thrives because the departed see the taking of the placebo to be a sign of moving on, and move on, themselves.”

“Damnit,” Hamilton swore before he remembered that Philip was in the room. He gave the boy the book. “Look at the pictures,” he murmured, distracted, before practically dashing out of the room.

Compliantly, Philip took the book and began looking through it for pictures. There weren’t any. “There aren’t any pictures,” he said aloud.

He sat down next to Philip. “I think your father meant the letters. Look, that one looks like a tree branch.” Philip laughed, making Him smile. Philip was once told that the only person who gets pronouns capitalized was God, but He didn’t have an actual name, at least one that Philip knew, so he figured that He could have them, too. “Would you rather continue our game?”

“Yes,” Philip decided. He talked quietly, when speaking to Him. Philip knew that others couldn’t see Him, so when they weren’t alone, Philip didn’t even speak to Him, just play a game of subtle miming. Over the years, they’d gotten used to it, creating their own pidgin sign language. “I’m a little upset Pop didn’t read with me longer, though.”

Walking over to the game that was set up, He shrugged. “Your father tends to not talk about what makes him feel upset. And hydras, or Bonds, those make him very upset. But not talking about what upsets you is very unhealthy. While your father is smart in many regards, don’t follow him there.”

“Oh,” Philip replied chirpily, “alright then.” He sat down in front of the dolls. “How should I set them up?”

After a moment’s consideration, He decided, “set the bows up all in the center, bundled up. The ribbons are in a circle around the bows. The ribbons are attacking bows.”

“Oh, I remember this one.” Phillip looked up at Him. “You like playing this one.”

He smiled. “With this one, I always win against you.” Philip was sure He had meant it as a joke, but it stung a little. He immediately noticed that He’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that, a long time ago, when I played the game with others, I lost during this setup.”

That was a little odd to Philip, since He only ever rarely talked about His past. Philip decided to play with caution. “Which side were you playing?”

“Ribbons,” He answered, the faintest of a fond expression on His face. He rolled his shoulder a little bit, and then rested his head on his hands, elbows in his lap. “You know the setup well enough, why don’t we start?”

Nodding his head, Philip thought about what to do. The bows were in a very defendable position, and any sort of offensive- what was that word He had used? Manover? No, it was  _ maneuver _ \- would take down too many bows. Enough so that He would call it a draw (Philip hated draws), and that was if Philip would be able to take down an acceptable amount of ribbons. Philip had played this setup maybe five times before, so, not often, but often enough to know that any of the most effective offensive  _ maneuvers _ would fail.

Maybe it would be better to use sticks rather than charge the dolls. But, from earlier attempts, he knew that there was simply not enough rocks to throw at the bows, and get through the defenses that Philip was ninety percent sure He drew up just to mess with him. And any damage that would be effective enough would require an offensive maneuver.

So, Philip couldn’t attack. But, he could wait.

When Philip sat back, their signal for the other to take their turn, but did not move any dolls, He raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t attack. I’m gonna wait them out.” Philip expected something like a disapproving stare, followed by an annoyingly teacher-like voice saying, ‘you can’t do that.’

Instead, He delivered the opposite. He broke into a grin. “Perfect,” He said, voice brimming with a somberness common with Him, “You’re learning moderation.”

Instead of accepting the compliment, Philip looked down. “Pa says that moderation is weak.”

“That’s because he never learned how to moderate himself, and is afraid of being weak, forgettable. Moderation won the war.”

Voice betraying no emotion, Philip asked, “did it win the battle?” He gestured to the setup of the dolls.

He shrugged. “There was no battle to be won, nor to be lost.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Do me a favor. Teach him moderation.”

Not knowing what else to do, Philip nodded. He still didn’t understand the importance of moderation, but it seemed important to Him, and He had only ever wanted what was best for Philip.

A little after that, his Ma walked in the room. “Phil? Have you seen your father?”

“He left a few minutes ago.”

“Did he say why?”

“Only said for me to look at the pictures,” Philip said. At his Ma’s confused expression, he pointed to the couch, where his Pa’s Tome still was. “We were reading it. He got upset, and then went out.”

Eyebrows furrowed, his Ma asked, “what were you two reading?”

Humming a short note, Philip replied easily, “Bonds. Did you know that you and him are Bonded?” His Ma nodded, and he continued, “he got a little upset after it said something about fake hallucinations.”

That piqued her interest, Philip noted. “Fake hallucinations?”

“Yup.” Not knowing if to elaborate, Philip looked up at Him, getting a  _ ‘go on _ ,’ gesture in response. “Something about ghosts. And how they go away after a potion that’s supposed to be for hallucinations.”

His Ma paled, and Philip blinked a few times. Had he done something wrong? Before he could ask, she offered a quick, “thank you, Phil,” before running off.

Frowning, Philip looked back up at Him. “What’s going on?”

He walked over to the couch, and ran his hand over the Tome. “Bonds are a touchy subject with your father. And hydras.”

Even more quietly than usual, “then why did you tell me to ask for him to read those?”

“He needed to learn,” He murmured. Philip didn’t pry any further.

 

* * *

 

 

Eliza had to cast a spell to find Hamilton, because, of all the places he could go to, he had chosen Burr’s home. She walked up the steps, brushed her skirt, and was about to knock when the door opened, revealing a girl just a little bit younger than Philip. Theodosia, then. “You’re here for Secretary Hamilton?” 

The girl’s words were blunt, but Eliza could understand why. If Hamilton was upset enough, he could become very… exasperating. “Yes,” she answered, smiling wryly. “I’m guessing I should apologize for however my husband has behaved.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for anything, if you weren’t the one to do the deed,” Theodosia says smartly.

“I like you,” Eliza decided. Theodosia beamed. “May I come in?”

“Certainly.” Theodosia stepped aside to let Eliza inside. “You’ll find them down that hallway, the second door on the right.”

“Them?”

“I think I’ll just show you,” Theodosia mused. She led Eliza down the hallway to the right, ducking into the room. Eliza followed, and sighed heavily at the sight before her.

Somehow, Hamilton had gotten Burr heavily,  _ heavily _ intoxicated, and Hamilton himself seemed to be somehow even more drunk. It took a second for Eliza to translate a sound that came out of Burr’s mouth into useable words: “Theo how are you who is this.”

Burr was slumped on a chair, while Hamilton was lying on his back on the ground. The latter sat up, said very loudly, “THAT’SMWIFE?” and then fell back down to the ground.

_ (Blackmail,  _ was the first thought that came to Eliza’s mind. She shook it out.)

“You know what we should do Hamilton,” Burr slurred, promptly forgetting about Theodosia and Eliza, “we should do a Summoning. Of a demon.”

Hamilton broke into giggles.

Turning to Eliza, Theodosia raised her hands placatingly. “As soon as Secretary Hamilton showed up, he placed magic blockers on my father and himself. I wasn’t even sure if my father was capable of getting drunk,” she admitted. Then, her face turned contemplative. She walked into the room, ducked into her father’s desk, and retrieved a paper, quill, ink bottle, and writing board. She handed the paper and writing board to her father, and dipped the quill in the ink before handing that to him also. “Please write, ‘I have before seen Secretary Jefferson eat an entire raw fish straight from the water. Aaand, sign there.” Beaming, Theodosia held up the note to Eliza. Somewhat shaky, but still readable.

“He’dit toe,” Hamilton muttered. “M’Laurens’dnt.”   _ He’d do it, though. My Laurens wouldn’t. _

A wave of pity rolled through Eliza’s chest. Theodosia seemed to notice that something was wrong, and nudged Eliza. “He keeps mentioning him. A Colonel, I think. Maybe a Lieutenant Colonel.” Burr and Hamilton began speaking to each other, somehow figuring out what the other was attempting to say.

“The latter,” Eliza mumbled. “Now, I can guess that you are well versed in magic studies?”

“Yes.”

“And you have heard of a Bond?”

“Powerful magic. Unbroken until death.”

“Yes, and what happens after the death of one’s Bonded?”

“A Shattering.”

“And after that?”

“Hallucinations, sometimes. Of the departed Bonded.”

“No,” Eliza said, shaking her head sadly. “You see, Hamilton has a Tome, passed down from his mother. Generations ago, it was spelled so that only truth could be written in that book, no matter the writer’s views or opinions.” Theodosia looked slightly apprehensive, maybe a little unconvinced. But Eliza continued, “his Tome, under the Bonds section, stated that the apparitions aren’t due to hallucinations. The apparitions are  _ ghosts.” _

Theodosia bit her lip, nodding. “Would make sense. The potion that’s supposed to be for ending the hallucinations has an ingredient used in a banishment ritual I was just studying.” When Eliza eyed the girl warily, Theodosia just shrugged. “I tend to study what some people call the darker aspects of magic. Father wants me prepared for any situation. I just find it enjoyable to learn about.”

They both nodded, and were quiet for a moment. “Hamilton and Laurens were Bonded. Laurens died, trying to slay a nuisance hydra. He didn’t want to take the potion, but I forced him to.” Her voice cracked at the end, and she raised a hand to her face. No doubt that Hamilton blamed her. After regaining her composure, she cast a spell that spontaneously made Hamilton and Burr sober. A warmth that was like standing near a fire tickled her limbs, telling her that the spell cast correctly.

Burr blinked twice, as if coming out of a trance. He noticed the glass in his hand, groaned in regret, and set it aside. Hamilton, meanwhile, had not taken to it so well. He shrieked in frustration. “Oh come on! I  _ need  _ to be drunk right now!” He threw his hands up at the ceiling, before slamming two fists on the floor, as if he were about to throw a tantrum.

“No,” Eliza said. Hamilton sat up sharply, his eyes widening, and then shrinking back, as if in guilt. “What you need to do is talk about this sort of thing,  _ sober _ , with people who care, instead of getting drunk with political frenemies.”

Raising an eyebrow, Burr asked, “political frenemies?”

“ _ Yes.  _ However, I know you, and you care, despite whatever it is you claim or don’t claim, so we all are going to sit here and act like  _ adults _ .” When she noticed Theodosia shrinking back, Eliza waved her arm. “You can stay. You’re mature enough.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hamilton.” Theodosia drew herself a chair to sit down, evidently tired of standing.

However, Burr furrowed his eyebrows. “Theo, are you sure that you want to hear-”

“About my dead boyfriend?” Hamilton reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask, presumably of hard liquor, and downed it. Eliza had sewn that jacket. It had no pockets. Eliza spelled the flask out of his hands. He let out a low whine in response.

She felt a pang in her chest, but knew that alcohol was  _ not  _ going to help the situation. “Alexander, getting drunk isn’t going to solve anything. Getting  _ Burr  _ drunk isn’t going to solve anything. You haven’t even  _ acknowledged  _ Laurens since the letter arrived, and even then…”

Surprisingly, it was Burr who spoke next. “I didn’t even know he had died,” he muttered. “I found out three years ago. Wrote him a letter, asked if he ever planned on moving up to New York. His father wrote me back. The letter was barely a paragraph. I had to look through old newspapers to find out how and when _.” _

“ _ Dulce et decorum pro patria mori, _ ” Hamilton recited. Eliza reasoned it to be from some newspaper clipping. (“It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country,” Theodosia translated. Burr smiled at her, but it was strained from the conversation topic.) “It’s not right. He didn’t die for his country. He didn’t live to  _ see _ his country. He died fighting a nuisance hydra when he should be here sitting  _ next to me _ .” By the end, his face was shoved into his hands, his voice breaking. “I can’t even blame anybody,  _ he _ was the person who took on the task, and by whatever power of god there is, I could never be angry with him.”

“You really love him,” Theodosia muttered. Her face was almost one of admiration.

Hamilton didn’t bother to look up. Though upset, he responded politely enough, “ _ loved.  _ He isn’t here anymore.”

“Death wouldn’t-  _ couldn’t  _ lessen anything like what you’re feeling.”

He slumped again. Burr bit his lip, before saying, “Theo’s right, you know. You shouldn’t pretend that you don’t still love him.”

When her husband didn’t respond, Eliza said, “there are some times when I just  _ know _ you’re thinking of him. Even after the Shattering, after the letter. I'd never seen you two together, I don’t even know what he looks like-”

Suddenly, Hamilton’s head snapped up. “Rescind my magic blockers, please.” He offered no explanation, but Eliza was fairly sure that Hamilton was in one of those moods where he just assumed that anyone who couldn’t catch up with his seemingly arbitrary leaps of thought were ‘slow’, so she complied, also rescinding Burr’s.

Immediately, Hamilton brought up an aura of blue light. He opened his hands so that it floated between his now-parallel palms, closed his eyes, and began concentrating deeply. The blue light began expanding until it was just slightly larger in diameter than Eliza’s hand. It shaped itself into what was first undeniably a human head. Then, a male face, and suddenly detailed features were being formed. Long curly hair pulled into a ponytail, dark blue freckles, and sad yet smiling eyes.

Eliza nodded dumbly, because that was all she could think to do.

“I know him.”

The room collectively looked at the speaker, Theodosia.

“I know him,” she repeated, dream-like. “He’s the man who follows Philip around.”

Glass shattered. Burr had dropped his glass. Eliza, meanwhile, hesitantly asked, “Philip?”

The girl nodded. “Philip. Your son. This man follows him around. Speaks with him.”

Hamilton and Eliza stared at the girl for a few moments, before Burr cleared his throat. He looked completely and utterly blank, even for him. “Mrs Hamilton, Alexander. Theodosia has a lack of magical ability as you would know it. Instead, it manifests itself as-”

“I’m a medium.”

“As in,” Hamilton started, “you see dead people..?”

“I can also speak to them,” the girl informed. “Most of them are trying to get in contact with the ones they left behind. I help them with that, if they have kind intentions. Others are delusional. Don’t know that they’re dead. I keep those company. Once, I attempted to talk to the man who follows Philip around. He didn’t speak to me. Just stared at me until Philip left. He never leaves Philip’s side.”

A small gasp escaped Eliza’s lips. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. Looking up at her, Hamilton asked a silent, “what is it?”

“Your last words to Laurens were-”

They finished in unison, “- _ Look over Philip. _ ”

Hamilton began crying again. “He did, Philip’s imaginary friend-”

“-That two-person game he always plays by himself-”

“-How his vocabulary is so advanced-”

“-Why he always stares at nothing-”

“-the reason why he asked about that specific page in my Tome.” He choked on a sob. “That was my Laurens. He was trying to tell me.” Eliza rose from her chair to sit next to Hamilton on the ground, enveloping him in a hug. Eventually, Burr and Theodosia left the room, allowing the two some privacy. Hamilton and Eliza must’ve stayed there for hours, just sitting together, taking in the shock of the realization.

When the two arrived back at home, the house was quiet. All of the candles were put out, little Angelica’s toys were put away (Little Angie herself was visiting her grandfather), and Philip was asleep.

Philip did not fall asleep unless he had a bedtime story read to him.

“Thank you, Laurens,” Eliza whispered into Philip’s room, hoping that her voice wasn’t wasted.

It wasn’t.


End file.
